Why?
by NotFlyingWithOtters
Summary: Written for this prompt: John asks why all the time. To Moriarty, to Mycroft and finally to Sherlock. Sherlock brushes him off until John grabs his wrist and won't let him go.


**Prompt:** **John asks why all the time. To Moriarty, to Mycroft and finally to Sherlock. Sherlock brushes him off until John grabs his wrist and won't let him go.**

**Angst, a little fluff**

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><p>"Why?" Moriarty grinned, revealing perfectly straight and white teeth, canines sharp and dangerous.<p>

"You're his pet." Moriarty flashed him a smile again, eyes alight with fervour.

"I don't mean anything to him." John knew this wasn't true and he bit his lip, deceiving Moriarty was harder than everyone else. He saw through this lie in a moment, his face becoming animated.

"Yes you do." He smirked as John struggled.

"No." Moriarty grinned at him with the air of a predator.

"Oh you do, Johnny boy."

"Assuming I do, why me?"

"Because you're the only one to get to him. You're the only man to get to him, ever. He'll do anything to save you."

"No he won't." John spat through his teeth, hoping against hope that Sherlock wouldn't come after him.

"Won't he?" Moriarty give him a strange look.

"He won't."

"Oh really?" And then he shoved John into the Semtex vest, zipped it up and shoved him into a car boot, a strange smile lighting his features. It was suffocating in the boot, and all John could think was w_hy Sherlock, why the hell did I have to meet you, and why did you have to get yourself an enemy. No, scratch that, another enemy._ John sighed and shifted a little, the aching pain against his shoulder stabbing over and over in a pattern. _Why him? Why now? Why Sherlock?_

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><p>"Why me, Mycroft?" John stood in front of Mycroft, hands clasped in front of him.<p>

"Sherlock needs you." John glared at him.

"Sherlock got me into this mess."

"But he needs you."

"But why?"

"You get him more than anyone has."

"No." John bit his lip, sadly and said it quietly with eyes wide.

"What do you mean?"

"No, I don't. Moriarty got to him more in a few hours than I did in a few months. I'm not the person you think I am."

"You're his best friend. He needs you."

"I can't be there."

"You have to be, he needs you."

"Why?" The words hung over them, unsaid.

"You know why." John sighed and turned away, his eyes wide and wet with tears.

"I do but I can't."

"You have no choice." Mycroft placed a hand on John's shoulder.

"Why?"

"He needs you, do this for me, for him. He needs you and you need him. Do this for him." John nodded stiffly, an army nod.

"Okay."

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><p>Sherlock was passed out on the sofa, his arm flung over his eyes.<p>

"Why?" Sherlock groaned, his eyes focussing on a spot beyond John's head.

"I need to think."

"And being high helps this process how?"

"Everything is linked. It's clearer when I'm high. I can see more."

"Sherlock." John made him budge up on the sofa. "How much did you take?" Sherlock sighed and rolled over, drawing his feet up to his chest.

"Enough." John rubbed his temples, distressed a little at the sight of Sherlock like this.

"I promised Mycroft I wouldn't let this happen."

"I know." John nearly lost his temper but managed to remain calm

"Then why?"

"Because you promised him you wouldn't let this happen."

"So this is all to get back to him? Jesus Sherlock." John sighed and pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes." John looked at the floor and then stood, shakily. "Where are you going?"

"I need to calm down before I lose my temper, Sherlock, what did you think this would do to me? I thought I actually meant something to you. But fine, I'll be back later."

"John I..." John shook his head.

"I don't want an explanation, I just want this to stop. I can only take so much."

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><p>John was ready to leave, a bag by his side and a pile of clothes, enough to last a week, beside him; Sherlock watched him pack, his eyes damp and red rimmed.<p>

"Why?" He asked huskily, watching John's profile.

"Because I can't be your mother. I can't promise Mycroft something not to happen, when you'll go out of your way to make happen." John sighed and finished packing.

"Are you coming back?" John looked at him, rocking back on his heels.

"That depends on you."

"I won't... I didn't mean to."

"You never mean to do anything."

"I do, every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

"Yes Sherlock, and this is my reaction."

"Don't go." Sherlock looked so pitiful, so alone, so scared that John felt his heart give a sudden lurch, and he almost stayed.

"I have to."

"No you don't."

"Yes, Sherlock, I do." Sherlock looked at him with luminous eyes, and then bowed his head.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I will. But I don't want to come back to this."

"Okay." John pressed a hand to Sherlock's shoulder gently, leaving it lingering there for a few moments.

"Stay safe, Sherlock."

"I will."

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><p>"Why?" John ran his fingers over Sherlock's wrist, cataloguing the slight raised line there among many others. Sherlock's alabaster skin was not as smooth as John had once thought; it was riddled with scars, some old and faded, some new. He traced the longest, the most jagged, sweeping up around his wrist and forearm.<p>

"It doesn't matter." Sherlock pulled away, releasing John's grip on his arm.

"Sherlock I put up with everything else, all the time. Not this time." His fingers closed over Sherlock's wrist, pale and delicate like a china vase on the point of shattering.

"It doesn't matter."

"Sherlock, why?" John dipped his head and ran his lips, soft against his skin, across the largest scar.

"Does it matter?" Sherlock whimpered as John's fingers fluttered over his skin.

"Yes." John kept a hold on Sherlock's wrist and led him to the kitchen, sitting opposite him, his wrist turned up towards the light.

"I hurt. I hurt more than anyone I ever knew." John traced the loops of the scar, against the tanned skin, they looked even worse.

"Everyone hurts."

"No... Not like... Like this." John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's and resumed the delicate stroking of the scar tissue.

"What was it?"

"No one understood me; not even Mycroft." John placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"I do." John kissed his forehead again.

"How?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes." There was a silence at this.

"That doesn't mean you understand me." John stroked his cheek and kissed his lips gently.

"I do." He cupped his face gently. "And I love you."

"Why?"

"You're you, is that not good enough?"

"I..." John silenced him with another kiss.

"Now, tell me slowly, everything that happened." He took his hand in his and held it, the pad of his thumb stroking Sherlock's palm. "I won't go."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I'm not going, Sherlock."

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><p><strong>Review?<strong>

**Erin xx**


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